A.N.: This is the sequel to "The Choice," a one-shot I wrote years and years ago. I'll be redoing that one--it really, really needs to be redone--but until then, I thought I'd continue it as a separate story. This shouldn't have more than a few chapters--I'm thinking five at the very most--so don't bother flaming me for starting something new!
And before you non-Moonies ask (though I really ought to pretend people like you don't exist), Ace was a Tuxedo-Mask-ish character from the Sailor V manga. I'm not going to go into his story since I'll be twisting it anyway, but I'm sure you can get the facts from Wikipedia (because let's face it, if it's not on Wikipedia, it's not important).
Oh, and since I don't really want any of you to go back and read the prequel before I've fixed it, here's a quick review: After the destruction of the moon kingdom, Venus was given the option of being reborn with Serena and Co. and fighting all over again, or of being reborn in a separate lifetime without her memories or senshi powers. She chose to lose her memory, but of course it started coming back anyway, and her parents eventually decided they couldn't handle it and packed her away to an asylum. After many years and pages upon pages of angst, she learns that Malachite has also given up his memories and followed her into this life. This story picks up five years later...
And, yes, this will have a happy ending. Eventually.
"The Reason"
CHAPTER ONE: Meet the Shrink
She was humming again.
It should have been a pleasing sound—her voice was a lovely thing, maybe even professional quality—but he'd grown to fear those tiny snatches of half-remembered song. He'd learned, over the five years since he'd first met her, that Mina only sang when she was miserable and no longer able to hide it, or when she was once again thinking of the life she'd never actually lived.
Usually both.
Malachite sighed, telling himself that she was making progress, that things could have been much worse. As bad as the humming was, after all, her silences were far more…disquieting. Mina had spent too many years never really speaking to anyone—or at least never speaking freely—and she didn't always remember that her every word was no longer being analyzed, that she wouldn't be punished if she failed to hide her pain. She didn't always remember that he loved her and had already chosen to accept even the darker aspects of a life with her. She still tended to shut him out, to withdraw into a world of her own making.
And it didn't help that he was lying to himself about her progress.
If he wanted to be perfectly honest with himself—and he usually didn't—he'd have to admit that nothing at all had changed in the three years since Mina's release from the institution. He knew, though she'd never voiced it, that she still believed in her other life, that she was still punishing herself for the impossible choice she'd once claimed to have made. She was still dwelling on it, torturing herself over it, and even his unquestioning love couldn't change that.
He'd accepted this, as well, but it still hurt that she could go for days without saying a word.
And it hurt even more that she didn't even notice her own silences. He knew she loved him—even her doctors had recognized how deeply she cared for him—but he suspected that, even now, she still didn't completely trust him. She still held too much of herself back, still chose to leave the majority of her thoughts unspoken. Maybe the institution was to blame—and no wonder—but he sometimes doubted if even the lifetime he planned to spend with her would break her of that. Would she never believe in him?
And she was humming again.
The tall man winced and forced himself to push these thoughts aside, knowing he would never be able to help his young wife if he focused only on his own pain. She needed support, not pressure and certainly not guilt. She had enough guilt of her own.
The humming continued, and while her voice never grew any louder and he couldn't detect any emotion in the hymn, he knew he had to go to her. He swung his long legs over the edge of their bed, ran a tired hand over his eyes and got to his feet. He wasn't wearing anything more than a pair of cotton slacks, but he chose to forgo a shirt as he slipped from their bedroom and headed towards the kitchen.
Mina was standing at the kitchen counter, a ridiculously pink apron tied around her slender waist, a mixing bowl in her hands. She was completely absorbed in her task, and he paused in the doorway to watch her. He couldn't help himself, because even after so many years, she could still make his breath catch with something a lot like awe.
Maybe this kind of reaction was normal for newlyweds, but he thought there was something more to it. His wife was, to put it simply, almost inhumanly lovely. Her body was too perfect, her features somehow even more so, and her rare smiles could literally make his heart stop. It almost hurt to look at Mina, at times, because in his darker moments, he sometimes thought she was too beautiful to last.
His tiny wife must have sensed his presence, because while she didn't cease mixing and didn't turn around, the humming suddenly stopped.
Malachite grimaced, knowing she'd just locked herself away from him again, but he didn't say anything. He simply moved quietly forward and came to stand behind her. He slipped his arms around her waist, rested his chin on the top of her head. "I love you, wife," he told her, the words more an assurance than a greeting as he tried not to notice how she automatically tensed at his touch.
It doesn't mean anything, he told himself for what was probably the millionth time. She doesn't realize how much it hurts, or even that she does it. It's not her fault.
He strengthened his grip on her, holding her close but not so tightly that she'd panic, wishing he could pass more of his warmth to her. "What are you mixing, love?"
At any other time, he would have been alarmed by the fact that she was even in the kitchen. Mina was something of a hazard when it came to the culinary arts, and she'd yet to produce anything truly edible. In fact, there'd been times when it'd taken every shred of courage he possessed to consume her meals, and there'd been many more times when he'd gotten sick from them.
Then again, he hadn't married her for her cooking skills, had he?
Mina leaned back against his bare chest, and from the sudden lift in her cheekbones, he knew she was smiling at him. She wordlessly tilted the bowl so he could see the contents, and from the vaguely yellowish liquid inside, he thought she might have been making an omelet. "Breakfast," she told him.
He kissed the top of her head, reluctantly pulled away and moved to stand beside her. "Let me help," he murmured, smiling back at Mina as he reached for the cheese.
"Mrs. Stone? The doctor's ready for you."
They never called her by her first name, she'd noticed. That was understandable, of course, since the nurses were nothing if not polite—and because her husband was always at her side during these sessions, which was probably the real reason—but she didn't think it would ever stop being strange. She'd spent too many years as simply Mina, as just another unwanted inmate, and it was…odd to have any other label.
Odder still to need one. Mina didn't think she'd ever get used to being a wife or even just a person, though she thought that had just as much to do with her other life as it did with her years locked away. As traumatizing as her time in the institution had probably been, sacrificing her sense of self had become a habit too deeply ingrained in her, and it was all but impossible to forge an identity separate from who she'd once been.
Mina sent a tiny smile in her husband's direction as she stood, pulling her hand from Malachite's and following the nurse back into her psychiatrist's office. She wished her husband could have come with her—she probably relied too much on his strength, but she wasn't yet at the point where she could use her own—but she also knew it was better that he didn't. This wasn't something she wanted him to see.
The doctor was at his desk, his head down and a pen in his hand as he waited for her. He looked up as the nurse left them, and his lips instantly twisted in a smile that was at once too warm and too knowing. "Mrs. Stone," he greeted as he rose to his feet and held out a hand. "How are you doing?"
Mina took his hand in as gentle a grip as possible, released him almost immediately. She didn't like this man or the patronizing sneer always in his eyes, but for Malachite's sake, she had to tolerate him. If she refused to speak or voiced her scorn as she'd done with some of the doctors in the past, she'd only make her husband worry that much more.
And Malachite worried too much as it was.
She forced a smile to her lips, and while it was completely fake—like everything else she said or did around this man—she didn't think her psychologist was perceptive enough to realize it. "Fine, thank you."
She couldn't bring herself to ask after his health in return, but he didn't seem to care or even notice. He merely gestured for Mina to take one of the chairs in front of his desk, then returned to his own. "Let's get started, shall we?"
Malachite sighed as he flipped through the pages of an ancient newspaper—the thing was at least a year old, but he knew better than to ask for a more recent one by now. His wife's psychologist dealt with some incredibly high-strung people, and the man firmly believed current events would be far too much for some of his patients to handle. Mal didn't exactly agree with him on that view, but then he wasn't a psychologist, was he?
Malachite didn't even work with the mentally disturbed any longer. He'd once been a caretaker, but he'd quit shortly before his marriage to Mina. He hadn't been able to go to work and see those who'd been her peers, to see the conditions under which they'd lived—under which she had lived—and still go home and face her at night. He worked with the elderly now, and while that was far less interesting than his old career, it was easier on his conscience.
And easier on Mina, which was what truly mattered in the long run. He didn't ever want his wife to feel as though he still saw her as only another sick person incapable of living alone, as only another patient. For her sake, he'd severed all ties to what had essentially been her prison since she'd been a child, and he didn't have any regrets.
He never did, when Mina was involved.
The door opened a short time later, and Malachite dropped his newspaper and all but shot to his feet. He was at Mina's side in less than an instant, one arm immediately slipping around her waist, the other taking her hand. He knew how tired these sessions made her, and he'd give her all the help he could.
She was looking pale and exhausted, perhaps even more so than usual, but he could also see the frustration in her eyes, and he wondered if it was time to change psychiatrists. Only a blind man wouldn't have noticed how much Mina disliked this one, and while the man was better than nothing, Mal had already started looking into someone new. I just need to find someone she can trust, he thought as he nodded a quick farewell to the nurse. Someone with whom she can connect.
He led Mina from the room, and as he opened the door for her and helped her through, he couldn't help leaning down and whispering a quick, "I love you, wife," in her ear as they left.
He took her out to dinner that night. Their anniversary wasn't for another month, but while Mina didn't usually like public places—they made her uneasy after a lifetime spent in near solitude—he'd thought she could use a little normalcy in her life…and wasn't this what normal couples did?
She seemed glad enough to go, though he'd noticed that as the hours passed, some of the color left her face. Mina was always rather pale, but long before their dessert came, he'd become concerned.
Mal finally reached across the table and took the hand she'd been resting beside her plate. "Mina? What's wrong?"
She'd been staring down at her food, but she suddenly lifted her eyes to his, and from the surprise in her expression, he knew she'd forgotten he was even there.
Which meant she'd lost herself again. Even now, on what was supposed to be a quiet dinner between husband and wife, he couldn't keep her with him.
He swallowed his hurt, tried to tell himself that his wife wasn't slipping away from him, that they'd get through this. Even in his thoughts, the words seemed hollow. "Mina?"
She was back in the present, but he didn't like what he could see in her eyes. Guilt danced over her features, there and gone in an instant, and the smile she offered in response was a little too sad. "I'm fine, Mal," she said, and though her voice was quiet, he was relieved by how steady it was. "I just zoned out a bit, that's all."
From anyone else, he might have accepted that. From Mina… "Do you want to go home?"
She started to nod her head, suddenly stopped and shook it instead. "No."
He checked his sigh, because while he thought she needed to return home and rest, while he thought she wanted to return home, he never forced her to do anything. She'd worked too hard to get back on her feet, and he wasn't going to jeopardize that by treating her like the child she'd never really been.
"What do you think of Dr. Erse?"
It was his turn to blink at her, because it just wasn't like her to bring up her medical problems, and even less like her to talk of the men and women treating them.
I don't think he's helping you, he might have said, but of course he didn't. For her own sake, Mina needed to be the one in control of her treatments, and he wouldn't give his opinion until after she'd voiced hers. "Why?"
She looked away, began chewing absently on her lower lip, but at least she didn't try to pull her hand from his. "I don't like him."
From someone as close-mouthed as Mina tended to be, the words were damning.
Malachite did sigh this time, because while he was grateful that she'd even said this much, he couldn't help wondering how long she'd been keeping this inside. Why couldn't she trust him? "I know," he told her, voice as gentle as he could make it. "I've been looking into someone new—"
If he hadn't been watching her so closely, he would have missed the way her lips tightened. And while her hand remained safely in his, her grip suddenly eased until he could hardly feel her. "Mina?"
She still wasn't looking at him, and her voice was barely more than a whisper. "I don't want someone new. I don't want anyone."
He supposed it was inevitable. He didn't think even she knew how many doctors she'd seen in the years since she'd been locked away, and while many of them had genuinely tried to help Mina, none of them had really been able to get through to her. Still, no matter how tired they both were of this, did they dare stop the sessions altogether?
Malachite brought his free hand to her chin, tilted her face until she had to look at him. "I have a good feeling about this one, Mina. I spoke to him this afternoon, told him a little bit about you. He's…different from the others, and I truly think he can help." He sighed, dropped her chin and covered their joined hands with his. "And if he doesn't, I won't ask you to speak with anyone else, Meens. We'll stop after this, I promise."
She was silent for a long time, but then, in spite of her frown, she nodded. "What's his name?"
Mal couldn't quite contain his smile, because he genuinely believed this man could get through to Mina. Malachite couldn't quite put his finger on the difference he'd found in the young doctor, but whatever it was, it had given Mal the first hope he'd had in a long time. "Ace," Malachite told his wife. "His name is Ace Evans."
His heart was in his throat as he watched their car pull into the parking lot beneath his window, though of course his face remained outwardly impassive. He couldn't let his emotions control his actions, not when so much was at stake. He can to stay calm no matter how hard it was just to keep breathing.
What if it's not her?
It was a possibility, though not one he wanted to accept. He'd sacrificed too much even for the right to look for her in this life, and he was running out of time. Failure just wasn't an option. If it wasn't her…
It has to be. Malachite wouldn't choose another, and even if he could love someone else, her "hallucinations" are too close to the truth. It's Minako, all right.
He should have been elated by the thought, but events had unfolded too quickly to seem real, and he could only watch in silence as the tall, silver-haired man slid from his car. Malachite glanced briefly around, never realizing he was being observed, then ran around the front of the car to open the passenger door. From his place at the window, Ace forgot to breathe once again as the other man reached in and helped his tiny blonde wife out of the car.
At last.
Minako was different in this life, though from what Malachite had told him of her past, that was understandable. She was still pale and inhumanly beautiful, but there was an unhealthy glow to her skin, and the shadows under her eyes spoke of too many sleepless nights.
How strong must she be, to endure a life in which everyone around her thinks she's insane, to know the truth and still have to pretend?
He turned away from the window, moved slowly over to his desk and slipped behind it. He folded his hands across the top of the desk, pasted what he hoped was a gentle smile on his lips, and waited with a nearly overwhelming impatience for his secretary to usher Minako into the room.
The door opened only a moment later, and he felt his heart constrict rather painfully as the woman he'd loved in another life stepped into the room. She wasn't looking at him as she entered, was instead staring at the floor with her fingers clenched into fists at her sides, and he waited only until the secretary left them alone before he pushed himself to his feet and went to her.
"Hello, Minako…"
Venus Smurf's Jokes of the Day: (All right, so I know that depression and psychiatric problems are not things to be taken lightly...but Mina isn't really crazy, and these were awfully funny, so I don't feel too bad about including them. Besides, isn't it kinda fitting with a story like this?)
Neurotics build castles in the sky.
Psychotics live in them.
Psychiatrists collect the rent.
Welcome to the Psychiatric Hotline.
If you are obsessive-compulsive, please press 1 repeatedly.
If you are co-dependent, please ask someone to press 2.
If you have multiple personalities, please press 3, 4, 5, and 6.
If you are paranoid-delusional, we know who you are and what you want. Just stay on the line so we can trace the call.
If you are schizophrenic, listen carefully and a little voice will tell you which number to press.
If you are depressed, it doesn't matter which number you press. No one will answer.
If you are delusional and occasionally hallucinate, please be aware that the thing you are holding on the side of your head is alive and about to bite off your ear.
A very shy guy goes into a bar and sees a beautiful woman sitting at the bar. After an hour of gathering up his courage, he finally goes over to her and asks, tentatively, "Um, would you mind if I chatted with you for a while?"
She responds by yelling, at the top of her lungs, "NO! I won't sleep with you tonight!" Everyone in the bar is now staring at them. Naturally, the guy is hopelessly and completely embarrassed and slinks back to his table.
After a few minutes, the woman walks over to him and apologizes. She smiles at him and says, "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. You see, I'm a graduate student in psychology, and I'm studying how people respond to embarrassing situations."
To which he responds, at the top of his lungs, "What do you mean, 200 dollars?!"
Once I had multiple personalities, but now we are feeling well.
The statistics on sanity are that one out of every four Americans is suffering from some form of mental illness. Think of your three best friends. If they're okay, then it's you. (V.S.: What do you do when all of your friends are crazy?)
Okay, okay, one more, then I'll shut up...
When the new patient was settled comfortably on the couch, the physiatrist began his therapy session, "I'm not aware of your problem," the doctor said, "so, perhaps, you should start at the very beginning."
"Of course." replied the patient. "In the beginning, I created the Heavens and the Earth..."
(V.S.: Hee...)